


kiss me on the mouth and set me free

by RainbowRandomness



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: #giveConnoracock, Biting, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Licking Things, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Finger Sucking, Flirting, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, How Do I Tag, Kissing, Licking, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Rutting, Teasing, misuse of oral analysis kit, sofa sex, why is this so long I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: It’s not like Hank isn’t curious; he’s only human after all, and it’s natural to be curious about someone when you’re working so closely with them and when they’re so different from you.Though, admittedly, his curiosity may have become more than slightly inappropriate as of late.





	kiss me on the mouth and set me free

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest oneshot I've written thus far and it's pwp. I don't even have words for how I feel about that. 
> 
> I don't know what else to say other than oh my GOD this fic took way longer to write than I ever initially thought it would, it is sooooo friggin long (well, it was 10,502 in my word doc but not on here apparently lol) and I have no idea how I managed that, and dear _god_ I haven't written smut in two years so please be gentle with me I know I'm rusty af 
> 
> regardless, I hope ya'll enjoy
> 
> oh, ps, I'm founding the #giveConnoracock movement because yes there's no reason for a detective android to have a dick, butt fuck it, I'mma give my boy a dick to jizz with arite
> 
> Title from _Bite_ by Troye Sivan

If anyone had ever asked Hank what he knew of the basic design of an android, he’d have laughed in their face and told them to fuck off. He had about as much knowledge of androids as any other average Joe, and even then he was pretty sure that most average people had a better understanding of androids than he did.

Generally speaking though, he knew Jack fucking squat about them and that’s the way he had intended to keep things; he knew that they’re androids, he knew he didn’t like them, and because of that he never saw a reason to know more. He didn’t _need_ to know more, so why would he go through the rigmarole of learning anything about them?

Except one evening CyberLife decided to send an android to haul his sorry arse from a bar to a crime scene, and, really, it’d all gone downhill from there.

Since then Hank had been working with Connor and had come to see him as less of an android and more as his own individual person. Working alongside Connor and being so close to him, seeing him change and evolve into a sentient being, well… it changes a person's opinion on things.

That and an android revolution; that can really change a person's opinion.

So, okay, Hank doesn’t hate androids anymore. If he really thought about it he supposes he never truly did; he just needed an outlet for his grief and anger at the loss of his son and androids had been the easiest target to throw his hatred towards instead of the human doctor who had let him down. He knew that now, was working past those resentful feelings and trying to do better.

Connor was helping with that.

The thing is, despite how much time Hank has spent with Connor, he still hasn’t learnt much about androids. Since dealing with the revolution and everything that came after it, there hasn’t been a lot of time to sit down and read a manual or even ask an android some personal questions.

And it’s not like Hank isn’t curious; he’s only human after all, and it’s natural to be curious about someone when you’re working so closely with them and when they’re so different from you.

Though, admittedly, his curiosity may have become more than slightly inappropriate as of late.

His queries had started innocently enough; where did Connor go when he wasn’t working a case? What did he do? Was there a place he returned to after finishing a mission, a person he visited? Did he charge his batteries in his downtime or did he not need to? Did he simply go to CyberLife? Was there someone there waiting for him to hand in his mission report?

But then came the moment he saw Connor stick his fingers in his mouth to analyse something for the first time and as disgusting as Hank found it, witnessing that had opened up a whole new realm of questions.

Hank had never gotten the time to ask Connor anything about how he ticked. Since after the revolution, after Connor had grown and become his own person, Hank’s questions had changed anyway; what did Connor like now that he was capable of liking things? What music was he into? Even though he couldn’t technically eat, did he prefer sweet flavours over savoury? What was his favourite colour, what hobbies would he like to pick up?

Hank wants to know it all.

And, well… there are some _other_ types of questions he’d like to know the answers to as well.

He catches himself staring at Connor from across their desks on more than one occasion, studying the lines of Connor’s face as he tries to work him out. Connor doesn’t comment on it, though Hank isn’t dumb enough to think an android wouldn’t notice someone staring at them. Hank is aware that Connor knows he’s being watched, and he’s grateful that Connor hasn’t mentioned it yet, simply allows Hank to keep studying him out the corner of his eye.

Hank has come to notice over time that, despite the fact that Connor was designed to work in the police force, his face is soft, almost boyish. There are freckles and moles that dot his pale skin, there is a slight curl to his brown hair where that one stray lock escapes the mould to rest against his forehead, and his default expression, though often neutral and blank, is gentle. Connor looks like a young twenty-something graduate who had come top of his class and landed himself the best position in the force because of it.

Hank frowns, thinking; he supposes the young boyish design was to put people at ease. Most on the force hadn’t been fond of androids (some still weren’t, though they kept those opinions to themselves nowadays) despite working with and having androids littered around the station.

Connor looked unassuming, and Hank guessed that was the point; when an android looked that soft, that gentle, that kind, it didn’t make you think twice about what he was actually capable of.

Such as analysing data in real time by pressing the pads of his fingers to the wet surface of his tongue.

Frown deepening, Hank’s brows pull down into a scowl. He realises he has been staring unfocused at Connor for too long and makes to turn back towards his own screen when Connor finally turns in his chair to face Hank, his face passive and unreadable.

“Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?”

Deep brown eyes, inquisitive, trustworthy, and so soft Hank felt as though he were gazing into pools of the sweetest chocolate.

Hank looks back at him, schooling his expression into a neutral one. “No, Connor, everything’s fine.”

He makes to turn back to his screen, hand instinctively reaching for his coffee cup. He lifts it to his lips and makes a disgusted sound when the barely lukewarm coffee touches his lips; he needed to get a refill.

“You were staring at me, Lieutenant.”

Hank glances back over towards Connor, who is still staring at him. He grumbles something unintelligible behind his coffee cup and Connor cocks his head to the side questioningly, the gesture reminding Hank of a confused puppy trying to understand something.

The image only serves to make Hank’s brow furrow deeper.

A beat of silence passes between them as Hank struggles to think of an excuse for his obvious staring. Connor watches him patiently, eyebrow raising ever so slightly in question and god, when did he start to pick up human expressions and copy them perfectly?

At last Hank finally blurts, “Why did they stick your analysis thing in your mouth?”

Connor blinks at him and Hank regrets the question the moment he throws it out between them. It hangs awkwardly in the air, Connor silently staring at him and Hank feeling stupid for bringing the question up in the first place. It had been bugging him for as long as he’d known Connor but asking him made Hank feel like he’d crossed some line he was previously unaware he was toeing along.

“It’s just,” he begins, trying to explain himself, “why not just stick it to the pads of your fingers or something? What orally fixated freak decided putting weird shit in your mouth for analysis was a good idea?”

Connor blinks at him again and Hank resists the urge to squirm in his chair. He replaces his coffee mug to its previous position on his desk and holds the handle, his finger tapping against the side of the ceramic. He thinks about telling Connor to forget it, forget this entire conversation, when Connor finally decides to speak.

“I believe the design choice was more for convenience than for any oral fixated reason,” he says, raising his left hand from his keyboard and holding up his index and middle finger pressed together. The LED at his temple blinks once and then the skin on his hand begins to retract, starting at the tips of his raised fingers and working down to his wrist until the entirety of his white chassis is revealed on his hand.

Hank watches, fascinated, eyes roaming over the different areas of Connor’s exposed hand. The precincts fluorescent lights reflect against the white plastic, shining across the surface; Connor spreads out his fingers and Hank watches as the joints move and slip into place.

“My fingertips are very sensitive,” Connor goes on to explain, wiggling his fingers for good measure, “if my analysis system were placed on the pads of my fingers, I would involuntarily be analysing anything and everything I touched.”

Hank stares at Connor’s hand for a moment, taking in its intricate design. He can make out the different creases that define the joints and the softer, more malleable material that allows his fingers to bend and curl. The softer material coats the pads of Connor’s fingers, his thumb, and an area of his palm.

He wonders what it would feel like beneath his own fingers, how the material would give, how soft it would feel, how human. He shakes the thoughts from his head.

“Still,” he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, “someone at CyberLife has definitely got an oral fixation going on and it’s bleeding into their work.”

There’s a lull in their conversation as Connor seems to calculate his next response. The skin of his hand materialises over his chassis, concealing it from Hank’s view, and he lowers his hand back down to his desk.

“Can I ask you a personal question Lieutenant?”

Hank huffs, amused. “Another personal question Connor?”

Connor doesn’t hesitate to continue. “Do you have an oral fixation?”

If Hank had taken a swig of his coffee he was positive he would have spat it back out across his desk. As it stood, he merely sucked in a gasp of air and almost choked on it, spluttering and hunching forward in his chair while Connor watched him, face as passive as ever.

“Are you okay Lieutenant?”

Hank coughs to clear his airways; his voice still comes out strangled.

“Am I _alright_?” He glances around the office quickly, scanning the loitering police officers to see if any of them had been listening in on their conversation. Thankfully there weren’t many officers milling about during this time of day, and the few that were at their desks or elsewhere didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on others conversations anyway.

Hank turns back to look at Connor, who is still waiting patiently for Hank’s answer. He seems unfazed by asking the question or by Hank’s reaction; Hank suspects he’s being a cheeky shit and is actually laughing at him inside his mind.

“Fucking Christ Connor, you can’t just ask someone something like that, Jesus.”

Connor cocks his head again, a small furrow appearing between his brow. “You seem quite interested in the subject, Lieutenant. I wondered if the fascination stemmed from a personal interest in your-”

“I swear to god Connor if you start talking about my sex life-” he begins before simply shaking his head, incredulous, “Fucking hell.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Hank brings his hand up to rub his fingers along his temple, massaging the headache he’s sure is building up behind his skull. His fingers move down to rub at his eyes and then pinch the bridge of his nose; even with his eyes shut he can feel Connor staring at him. He sighs again and opens his eyes, looking straight at Connor, who is already watching him, that perplexed look keeping his brow firmly furrowed.

“Forget I said anything.” Hank says, placing his hands against the arms of his chair to push himself up. He stretches once he’s standing up, curving his back until something pops and his body feels less stiff, his shoulders slouching, relaxed, when he‘s done.

He reaches down and swipes his coffee mug from his desk. He mumbles something about refilling his coffee and when he looks up towards Connor, he finds his partner still staring at him, head still cocked slightly to the side and a new look taking residence on his face. He looks thoughtful, as though behind those doe brown eyes and soft, boyish features he was formulating a plan. If Hank wasn’t mistaken, he was even sure there was a slight pout to Connor’s lips.

Hank had an uneasy feeling that he was being studied, and that whatever idea Connor was concocting in his mind involved him in some way. He straightened himself, grumbled again about how he was going to get more coffee, and all but ran towards the kitchen area to refill his mug, ignoring the feeling of his partners eyes burning into his back the entire way there.

-

It became apparent in the following days that Connor had not forgotten their conversation and was, if nothing else, playing some sort of game with Hank.

Since mentioning the implications of Connor’s oral analysis kit, it seemed as though the android had made it his new mission to stick anything and everything into his mouth. Even when it seemed somewhat redundant and unnecessary, Connor would still swipe some evidence onto his fingertips and proceed to lick it, practically sending Hank’s heart rate rocketing as he watched.

It was particularly distracting when they found themselves investigating gruesome crime scenes.

Folding his arms over his chest, Hank surveys the crime scene, taking note of the spatters of human and android blood littering the scene. There were no bodies; neighbours nearby the run down home had reported hearing shouting earlier in the evening, followed by the sound of a fight breaking out. Looking around the home, it was evident there had been some sort of scuffle between two people, with equal amounts of bloodshed from each side. Furniture was knocked over, scuff marks left across the walls from possible weapons that had been used during the fight, and red and blue blood marred the floor, the walls, giving the DPD a trail to follow as they tried to figure out what had happened.

Hank walked along one of the trails, stepping beside the various spatters until he reached the entryway to the kitchen. He glanced up and had a moment of deja vu reflecting back on his first case with Connor, with Carlos Ortiz’s body lying in the living room and a scared android hiding away in the attic.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank looks to his side as Connor moves to stand beside him. He’s looking at Hank with a pinch of concern. He brushes the look away, glancing back around the crime scene before looking back towards Connor.

“What do we know so far?”

Connor springs into action immediately, rattling off the data he’s collected about the case. No bodies found at the scene (obviously), though enough blood to suggest that the two victims are greatly wounded and will need medical attention (Hank makes a mental note to ask one of the officers to check in with local hospitals about late night stop ins of injured humans or androids).

“Do we know what model the android is? Could help us get a description out so we know who to look for.”

Connor pauses, causing Hank to glance at him from the corner of his eye. Connor moves slightly from beside him and back into the living room, reaching for the nearest wall with a spatter of blue blood up it.

Hank watches, though he knows what’s about to happen, as Connor reaches out his hand, index and middle finger extended, towards the thirium spread across the wall. It’s still wet, though even Hank can see it’s beginning to dry and knows it will soon evaporate as though it were never there to begin with.

Connor swipes some of the blue liquid onto his fingers and brings them to his lips. Hank watches, heartbeat upticking as he does so, as Connor’s tongue peaks out from between his pink lips and licks across the pads of his fingers, sampling the thirium.

Hank turns away suddenly, heart beating just a tad too quickly to be normal, and focuses his gaze elsewhere. He looks around the crime scene again, tries to pick up any clues that may be staring him in the face, but his thoughts are preoccupied imagining Connor’s tongue peaking out from between his lips, wet and pink and willing to lick along his-

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

He startles, though he tries not to show it, and glances over his shoulder to look back at his partner. Connor is still holding two of his fingers up, the digits hovering close to his lips, blue blood smeared across the tips. There’s a streak of blue blood across his lower lip and Hank averts his eyes heavenward, praying for the sweet release of death. He was sure it would be kinder than this.

“I’m fine Connor.”

“Your heart rate has elevated slightly-”

Hank makes a dismissive noise, cutting Connor off mid sentence. He didn’t need the android rattling off his hearts BPM in front of the rest of the officers at the crime scene. No one else needed to know that Connor licking evidence made him feel a little off-kilter and gave his withered old heart palpitations to boot.

“Lieutenant.”

Glancing back towards his partner, Hank tries to control his expression as he watches Connor slowly drag the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, effectively licking away the blue blood that had been smeared there. His lower lip glistens with what Hank assumes is Connor’s spit, and _fuck_ do androids have spit? What for? Just to make their pretty pink lips glisten and give old men heart attacks at active crime scenes?

Hank feels his heart skip a beat and colour rise to his cheeks. He ignores both of these things, though he knows Connor definitely doesn’t, not if the way he flicks his gaze down towards Hank’s lips and licks his own upper lip slowly, purposefully, so that Hank can see, is anything to go by. It makes his cheeks feel as though they’re burning and he clears his throat, drawing Connor’s eyes back to his, and tries to pretend he isn’t hot under the collar after what Connor just did.

“We better, er- we better finish up here and head back to the station.”

Connor looks at him, gives him a small smile and nods. He moves, walking past Hank towards the door they entered through, and Hank watches him for a moment before following behind. He talks to some of the officers before he heads out the door, briefing them on what they knew so far and telling them to check out any nearby hospitals for their victims. When he finally makes it outside he finds Connor waiting for him by his car, leaning against the passenger side door with his hands behind his back and his face turned up towards the sky. His eyes are closed and his LED is blinking by his forehead, swirling between yellow and blue.

Hank pauses, takes in the sight of his partner, eyes settling on his lips. There’s still a faint glisten to them and he briefly wonders if Connor licked his lips again, though he stops the barrage of mental images that curiosity conjures up in its tracks before he can be swept away with his fantasies. He heads over to his side of the car instead, pulling the door open and getting in, Connor following suit.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank’s only just pulled his door shut and he’s already worried to look over in case he sees something that finally makes his heart stop beating inside his chest altogether. “Yes Connor?”

“The android victim is a WB400 model, previously known as an android utilised for agricultural labour. I’ve sent a report detailing what the android may look like.”

Hank pauses, almost dumbfounded. He’d completely forgotten that was why Connor had been licking the thirium sample for in the first place, to gain data on the android.

“Right,” he says, readjusting his position in his seat and starting the car, “right, right, good. Good job Connor.”

He doesn’t miss the way Connor beams at him from the passenger side seat at the praise.

-

Connor’s out to kill him, Hank’s sure of it.

He’s positive the stunt at the crime scene a few days ago was a way to test his reaction so Connor could read his BPM, or the dilation of his pupils, the blood flow around his body, or _something_ , because now it seems like Connor is actively trying to get Hank to admit to having an oral fixation, despite never giving the kink so much thought before in his entire life.

Really, he thinks, reflecting back to how this all first started, he regrets asking that damn question in the first place.

He wishes he hadn’t blurted out that someone at CyberLife must have had a oral fixation, he wishes he hadn’t linked the _thought_ of Connor licking blue blood to instead licking something else entirely. The mental images were driving him insane and Connor wasn’t helping any in quelling those thoughts.

If anything, he was encouraging them, and Hank couldn’t make heads or tails of _that_ particular absurdity at all.

Hank sighs and brings his coffee cup to his lips, taking a long swig of the fresh and piping hot liquid, allowing it to pleasantly burn down his throat. Connor had gotten him the drink from the coffee shop across the road, and that fact alone made it taste infinitely better than the regular shit they got from the stations kitchen. He relishes in the taste of it and leans back in his chair, absentmindedly swirling the cup in his hand.

He’s not sure how much longer this can go on for, how much longer he’ll last before breaking. He glances over towards Connor, sat across from him at his desk as always, and inhales sharply through his teeth.

For whatever reason, Connor has decided to place a pen between his lips. He’s holding the lid of the pen and rolling the end of it back and forth across his lower lip, gently massaging the plump pink skin. Occasionally Hank sees him bite the end of the pen between his teeth, his fingers then working their way across the lid and the length of the pen absentmindedly.

His brows furrow when he does this, as though playing with the pen helps him concentrate. When he’s seemingly past whatever frustrates him, he resumes rolling the pen across his lip, his brow smoothing and his face softening once more.

Hank’s sure his heart has kicked up a beat or two watching Connor do this. He feels ridiculous, getting worked up over something so small, something rather innocent if anything, but his mind supplies the image of Connor’s fingers elsewhere, stroking along the length of something else altogether.

He doesn’t quite realise he’s staring until Connor turns to face him, a quizzical look arching his brow.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank blinks as though clearing his mind. He clears his throat, tries to act as though he wasn’t just caught staring, and takes another swig from his coffee cup.

Connor watches him do so, the corner of his lip upticking into a playful smile. “Do you have another question about my functions, Lieutenant?”

Hank scowls; the little shits making fun of him.

He looks back towards Connor and almost inhales his coffee in mild surprise. His eyebrows arch upwards as he tries not to choke on his drink, his eyes drinking in the sight of Connor in front of him.

The little shits got that pen between his teeth, the length of it pushing against the plumpness of his lower lip, and the corners of his mouth are ticked up into a playful smile. His brows are raised as though in question, but his eyes are hooded as if he were offering Hank an invitation (to what, Hank isn’t sure).

Fuck; was Connor _flirting_ with him?

Hank must be staring again and staying quiet a beat too long because Connor’s expression begins to shift, as though suddenly shy. He averts his gaze down towards his terminal, though even then Connor looks gorgeous, his face softening as if with embarrassment and, fuck, was that a tint of red high on his cheeks?

Hank makes a mental note; apparently androids can blush.

“No, I-” fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say. If he’s right and Connor _is_ flirting with him, then- why? How is he meant to react?

Connor glances towards him again, looking up at Hank through his lashes. “Your heart rate has elevated, Hank.” He says this factually, but there’s a dip to his voice, making it lower, a mere murmur in the quiet din of the office. Hank swallows, his grip tightening on the coffee cup. He hears it crumple marginally in his grasp.

Connor smiles at him coyly, tapping the end of the pen against his lower lip twice. “That’s been happening a lot lately, Lieutenant.”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. This feels like flirting. He swallows again, his throat tight, thick, his airways feeling obstructed. He schools his expression, or at least tries to, attempting to appear calm and collected despite feeling heat begin to rise to his cheeks. He can’t handle the look Connor’s shooting his way.

He tries to steady his voice as he speaks, attempts to play it smooth. “I wonder why that is.”

Connor’s smile widens just a bit, that playfulness returning. “Yes, I wonder why.”

Hank watches as Connor sits up straighter and returns his eyes to his terminal, seemingly going back to work. Despite his fingers returning to the keys and the pen now lying forgotten on the desk, Connor’s eyes give him away. There’s a heat in them that hasn’t dissipated, a fire still burning in the deep oak brown of his eyes.

Connor smiles, as though to himself. “What an intriguing mystery to solve.”

His grip on his coffee cup tightens once more.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks again.

He’s so screwed.

-

Things finally come to a head a few days later on a quiet evening when they’re both home early after a quiet day at work.

They’re sat on the sofa, Hank on one end and Connor on the other, lounging in their sweatpants and tshirts (or rather, Hank’s sweatpants and tshirts; Hank had given Connor some of his old clothes to wear instead of his uniform for when they were at home, and Connor had taken that as a reason to never go out and buy his own set of lounge wear.

Not that Hank was complaining. Not really.)

There’s a game playing on the telly, though Hank zoned out from watching it a while ago. Instead he’s allowed himself to indulge in taking in the sight of his partner sat beside him.

Despite the low lighting of the room, Hank can still make out the line of Connor’s nose, the sharp edge of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He notes, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, the spattering of moles and freckles across his face, his neck, Hank’s mind wandering to imagining other areas of skin those beauty blemishes might spread across. His mind wanders further to imagining kissing his way across Connor’s skin, mapping them out.

Connor’s staring forward, eyes on the tv, seemingly oblivious to Hank’s staring (though Hank’s sure that isn’t true), a cushion held in his lap across his bent and folded legs. Hank’s sat to the right of Connor, with a clear view of his LED spinning rhythmically blue against his temple. It pulsates, glows, blinks once or twice to gold as he processes something. Hank wonders if it blinks yellow under his scrutiny or over something happening in the game playing out in front of them.

Hank glances down to where Connor’s feet almost touch his thighs. Connor has a tendency to walk around the house barefoot, not bothering with socks since he says he doesn’t feel the necessity in doing so. Hank doesn’t mind much either way, finds it cute when he sees Connor pad across the house in a pair of old socks or finds it endearing when he sees Connor’s toes poking out from beneath the hem of Hank’s worn jogging bottoms, as they’re doing now.

He wants to reach out. He thinks about placing his hand on Connor’s foot, sliding his hand upwards to travel beneath the loose material of the sweatpants until his hand rests on Connor’s ankle, his calf, grip loose but firm enough to grab Connor’s attention. He considers it, rolls the idea around in his mind and thinks about how soft Connor’s skin looks. He wonders how it would feel beneath his palm, his tongue, in the grip of his teeth, how it would yield.

He finds himself reaching out before he’s even made the conscious effort to do so and feels his hand make contact with Connor’s skin.

Connor stiffens ever so slightly at the contact, but otherwise doesn’t react, his body relaxing again just as quickly. Hank continues, acting out what he had just been thinking about, his hand travelling along Connor’s ankle, sliding along to grip his calf, pushing the fabric of the sweatpants up as he does so.

He glances up towards Connor to gauge his reaction. Connor’s still looking towards the telly, though Hank knows he isn’t paying attention to the game anymore. He lets his hand rest against Connor’s calf, gives it a slight squeeze just because, and lets his eyes drink in the newly exposed skin that’s now been made available to him.

Pale skin, a scattering of moles, no hair in sight. Hank had expected as much. He runs his hand down along the smooth expanse of Connor’s calf, feels the heat emanating beneath his skin as though blood were rushing through his body (though, Hank considers, he supposes there is; it’s blue instead of red, but blood all the same) and Hank marvels at the feel of it, thinks of the wires hidden under Connor’s chassis that cause him to emit heat.

Hank wants to see him, all of him. It’s an overwhelming urge that takes him by surprise, knocks the wind from his lungs and makes his head feel dizzy, lightheaded. Not so long ago he’d despised androids; now he wants to get as close as physically possible to one.

Only one though, he thinks, smiling to himself. He only wants to get close to this one.

Leaving his hand resting against Connor’s leg, Hank draws his gaze back up to study Connor’s face. Connor shifts just slightly in his seat, obviously aware of Hank watching him. Hank isn’t too concerned now though; he can tell Connor preens under his attention, sits with his back a little straighter when Hank’s gaze falls upon him and rests there, drinking him in.

And he does; he lets his eyes settle on Connor’s lips, traces his Cupids bow and the plumpness of his lower lip. He watches as the tip of Connor’s tongue becomes visible and glides across the smooth pink skin, leaving a wet path in its wake before it retreats back behind his lips.

“Lieutenant.”

His voice is soft, low, a murmur. Hank practically has to drag his eyes away from Connor’s lips to meet his eyes and the heat he finds in Connor’s gaze as he stares at him makes Hank suck air through his teeth in surprise.

“Yes Connor.”

It sounds less like a question and more like a confirmation, a confession of what’s been building between them. He reflects again on how this came to be, how only a week ago they were only friends, partners, and now…

Now they were heading somewhere unknown.

He pauses, thinks back to that day at the office; did he really regret asking that damn question?

“Hank.”

No, he thinks, sure of his answer; not with the way Connor’s looking at him now, heat in his eyes like fire in a hearth, raging and warm, all consuming.

Connor shifts in his seat, restless, turning so that his back leans against the armrest, facing Hank. He’s careful not to dislodge Hank’s hand where it rests against his leg, lets it slide across his skin as he turns to face the man opposite him.

Hank watches him, holds his gaze. Connor watches him in turn, LED blinking softly between blue and gold, his arms wrapped around the cushion in his lap just to give him something to hold onto to. His fingers draw circles in the fabric lazily and Hank’s caught between watching them, watching Connor, and wanting to reach out to take hold of his fingers, interlock them with his own, and pull him closer. It’s an overwhelming urge; his grip on Connor’s calf tightens reflexively and Connor lets his eyes drop momentarily from Hank’s eyes down to his lips, settling there, an invitation that Hank no longer wants to refuse.

Without thinking about it Hank finds himself reaching forward, taking his hand from Connor’s calf to instead cup his jaw, his thumb trailing along the smooth skin of his cheek. He swipes his thumb, once, twice, relishing in the way Connor leans into his touch.

When he trails his thumb down until it rests at the corner of Connor’s mouth, he hears Connor’s intake of breath, feels him hold it for a moment before letting it go. The air brushes ever so slightly against the pad of Hank’s thumb, tickling him, and he finds himself holding his own breath as he moves his thumb to rest in the centre of Connor’s lower lip. He holds his breath and presses down against the plumpness of Connor’s lower lip, feeling it give beneath his thumb. The breath caught in his throat releases through his own parted lips on a sigh.

“Hank.”

He feels the syllables as they’re formed, feels the ghost of his name brush against his thumb like a whispered kiss. He swallows, throat suddenly dry, and presses forward.

The sound Connor makes as Hank slips the tip of his thumb inside his mouth sends him dizzy. It’s practically a whine, desperate and needy, a rush of air released after being held for who knows how long. It’s an admission to how much Connor wants this, a confirmation that this isn’t one sided, that Hank isn’t in this alone. He presses forward still, slips his thumb fully inside Connor’s mouth and feels the slick wetness of his tongue as he presses down upon it.

He tries not to choke on his next intake of air as Connor closes his lips around the digit and sucks, his mouth a wet, slick heat that causes Hank’s blood to surge through his veins. He’s almost positive his eyes are as wide as saucers and he can’t look away, couldn’t even if he wanted to, and _god _,__ he doesn’t want to.

Apparently Connor doesn’t want to look away either, because his eyes are still open, hooded and framed by lashes that brush against his soft cheeks with each slow blink that has Hank hitching his breath. Connor keeps his eyes trained on Hank as he sucks, his tongue caressing the length of Hank's thumb and fuck, _fuck_.

“Connor,” he says, sounding broken even to his own ears, voice cracking as he says his partners name.

Connor stops sucking long enough for him to reach up and take hold of Hank’s hand, redirecting it from where it’s cupping Connor’s jaw to instead rest in front of his face. He opens his mouth, releases Hank’s thumb wetly as he lets it glide along his tongue, and then moves to take Hank’s index and middle finger into his mouth, lips closing around the digits and enveloping them in wet heat.

Hank stifles a groan behind his teeth, biting into his lower lip. He watches as Connor’s eyelashes flutter, his LED spinning gold as his eyes roll back. His tongue curls around Hank’s fingers, slicks them with his artificial saliva, and when he moans the vibrations send shivers shooting down Hank’s spine.

There’s heat in his cheeks and blood rushing through his veins, making Hank feel overheated and raw. Connor’s tongue curling around his fingers has his cock throbbing in his sweatpants and he tries not to make it too obvious when he moves his free hand to press down against his cock, attempting to relieve the pressure growing in his groin. He holds back another groan as he bucks against his own hand, seeking friction, desperate for release.

“Fuck, Connor…”

If he’s getting this wound up from simply having his fingers sucked, he can’t imagine how Connor’s feeling. He wonders if this is really doing anything for the android at all; just because his analysis kit is in his mouth didn’t necessarily mean he actually had an oral fixation. Maybe he was doing this for Hank, hoping that he’d like it (and god, does he ever) even though it did nothing for him personally.

“Connor,” he says, clearing his throat. His voice sounds raspy, raw. He tries again, clearing his throat as he tugs gently on his fingers. Connor eventually opens his eyes and parts his lips, letting Hank’s fingers fall free from his mouth.

It’s a distracting sight; spit glistens on Connor’s reddened lips and his eyes are half lidded and glazed as he looks at Hank, pink high on his cheeks with a blush Hank wasn’t even aware Connor could have. Despite the low light of the room Hank can see that Connor’s pupils are dilated, blown wide to conceal the warm brown of his irises, and his lips are parted as he pants for breath, breath Hank is sure he doesn’t really need. It’s a tantalizing sight to behold and Hank holds back another moan at the sight.

“Connor,” he says again, trying to regain his own breath. He hadn’t even realised how laboured his breathing had become until he had to fight to gain control over it again.

He has to ask, has to make sure. “Are you sure you want this?”

_Are you sure you want me?_

Despite not saying those words, it’s obvious what his question implies. He knows Connor understands this by the way his eyes soften, by the way he reaches out to card his hand through Hank’s beard, cupping his jaw and bringing him forward into Connor’s space. Connor opens his legs as Hank moves with him, makes space for Hank to slip between his thighs and lie atop him, pressing close. He swipes his thumb through Hank’s beard, smiles at him warmly, affection radiating from him in waves.

“Always,” Connor says, soft as anything, sincerity in his voice that leaves Hank breathless.

From his new position lying on top of Connor, he can feel his partners excitement pressing against his own. Hank ducks his head into Connor’s shoulder, pressing his nose against Connor’s neck, and breathes, trying to regain some semblance of control over himself. He wants to move, wants to rut his hips forward against Connor’s until he’s squirming beneath him, until he’s writhing and gasping Hank’s name.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, lips brushing Connor’s heated skin.

Connor raises his hips in answer, brushing his swollen cock against Hank’s through their sweatpants. Hank stifles a moan into Connor’s skin and hears the android whine in his ear, his hand snaking into Hank’s hair to hold onto and tug.

 _Fuck_ , Hank thinks, and ruts forward, pressing himself closer. He works his hands beneath Connor’s shirt (his shirt, too large for Connor’s lithe frame, the fabric easy to move to expose Connor’s skin) and trails his fingers along the artificial muscles, spreads his warm palms across Connor’s overheated skin and settles there, drinking in the feel of him beneath his hands.

How did he get so lucky, he wonders as Connor squirms beneath him, his back arching under Hank’s touch. His fingers curl in Hank’s hair and grip tightly, tugging ever so slightly. It’s as if Connor wants to pull harder but restrains himself and oh, Hank can’t have Connor holding out on him, not when they’ve gotten this far.

Skimming his hands down along Connor’s sides, Hank opens his mouth at the juncture between Connor’s neck and shoulder, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss to his skin. He sucks lightly at the area, lets his tongue trace a pattern between the moles dotted across his skin, and then bites down, sinking his teeth into soft surface of Connor’s neck.

The reaction he gets is instantaneous. Connor whines Hank’s name into his ear, his hand tugging harshly at Hank’s grey hair as his hips buck up to meet Hank’s shallow thrusts. He squirms and claws his free hand across Hank’s back, sinking artificial nails into Hank’s shirt, imprinting his touch through the material and into his skin. His reaction only serves to make Hank want to do it again, and he does, his tongue laving at the teeth marked skin of Connor’s neck before he moves towards Connor’s shoulder, biting down again without warning.

“Hank,” Connor whines, bucks his hips forward to find Hank’s cock with his own. He wiggles under Hank’s hold, squirms, claws at Hank’s back until his shirt raises up to expose his skin to Connor’s hands, his fingers raking across his back and leaving trails of redden and raised lines in his wake.

Hank doesn’t mind, relishes in the feel of Connor losing control, of marking him. It makes him press down harder, apply more pressure between them as they rut against each other, desperate for friction, for release. He trails his lips across Connor’s shoulder, his collarbone, his neck, kisses along his throat and sucks gently at the small lump of his Adam’s apple until Connor spasms beneath him.

“ _Hank _,__ ” he croaks, voice modulator crackling with static as he says Hank’s name. His hips arch again, trying to press closer and Hank leans back to murmur in Connor’s ear, hushing him.

“It’s okay Connor,” he whispers, low and soothing even as he sinks his weight into Connor and hooks his fingers under Connor’s sweatpants and underwear, beginning to push them down, “shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Connor whines in his ear again and hides his face in Hank’s shoulder. Hank can feel his forehead resting against him, face turned towards his neck, laboured breaths panting against his hot skin. It’s intoxicating, to feel Connor’s control slip away through his fingers, to feel him let go because of _Hank_.

It’s dizzying, it’s addictive.

It’s the hottest fucking thing and Hank can’t get enough.

He continues to push his hand beneath Connor’s sweatpants, fingers hooked under the band of his underwear. He pushes until the fabric begins to give, until his hand is running along smooth skin and the material gives way to slide down along Connor’s thighs.

“I’ve got you honey, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He’s not sure where the pet name has come from, but it makes Connor’s breath stutter all the same, his hips rising to allow Hank to finally slip his underwear down his thighs to expose his cock, which juts up towards the pale expanse of his stomach. When Hank looks down towards it he takes a moment to take it in, noting how realistic it looks. If there’s one thing that gives it away it’s the lack of hair, and the way there’s a hint of blue beneath the pink surface, a reminder of the thirium that runs through Connor’s body, blue instead of red.

“Connor,” he says, noses at Connor’s hair to grab his attention, “Connor, baby, look at me.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Connor lifts his head from Hank’s shoulder and when he does Hank feels his breath stutter in his lungs. There’s a heavy blush gracing Connor’s cheeks, a deep set pink that bleeds into red, and beneath it all is a soft shade of blue, patchy in places but there all the same. It blends with the artificial blush Connor must have been programmed with, the thirium bleeding through to the surface, reminding Hank that Connor is an android.

As if he wasn’t aware; he glances up and catches sight of Connor’s LED, spinning between gold and red so quickly it almost blends into a sunset orange. It cycles between the colours and finally blinks and lands on red as Hank continues to study Connor, making his partner shift nervously beneath him.

“Hank?” he questions, hesitation in his voice. Hank shifts his eyes from Connor’s LED back to his face, holding his gaze. There’s worry in Connor’s eyes, though his expression doesn’t give it away, and Hank can’t help but think that that simply won’t do, having Connor worry that something is wrong when everything feels so incredibly right.

The soft “ _Oh _,__ ” that leaves Connor’s mouth when Hank wraps his hand around his cock is awed, a sound of surprise that melts into pleasure as Hank’s hand strokes him slowly, making Connor’s breath stutter and his eyes fall shut. A moan makes its way past Connor’s lips and Hank’s own cock twitches, hard and leaking in his underwear, desperate for attention.

“Please don’t stop,” Connor breathes, voice no louder than a whisper, and how can Hank deny him when he sounds so wrecked already, his voice glitching with static and his body arching under Hank’s touch.

“I’ve got you Connor,” he says, a murmur in the quiet of the room, “I’ve got you.”

He strokes Connor nice and slow, applying pressure on the upstrokes so he can watch the precome leak from the tip. Connor’s hips jerk forward in small, needy thrusts, whimpers and whines falling from his lips as he tries to get Hank to move faster, to give him more friction. Hank simply kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth, whispers in his ear that he’ll make him feel so good, to _just be patient baby, I’ve got you_.

It’s as Connor begins to squirm in his arms, impatient as he holds onto Hank with shaking hands, his hips hitching forward in shallow thrusts to fuck into Hank’s fist, that he begins to pick up speed. He gathers precome from Connor’s leaking tip, coats his fingers with it and strokes down, coating Connor’s cock with his own come to make Hank’s strokes slicker. He picks up the pace, twists his wrist on the upstroke to make Connor cry out and bury his face into Hank’s shoulder, body becoming taunt like a bow. Connor’s fingers dig into Hank’s shoulder, claw at his back, and his desperate trusts have Hank panting, his own hips twitching with the need to move.

“Hank,” Connor whimpers against his throat and Hank hushes him, kisses the shell of Connor’s ear where it’s glowing pink with shades of blue.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay,” he says, panting against Connor’s ear.

“I want to feel you Hank.”

It’s spoken like a confession, a hushed murmur against Hank’s ear. His hand falters where he’s stroking Connor’s cock, grip tightening just so to squeeze the base. A breathy moan caresses his ears, a sound tinged with static as Connor fights to regain control of his vocals.

“Please,” he says, and Hank feels it as Connor’s hand sneaks between them and tugs at the waistband of his sweatpants that barely conceal his straining cock, “I- I want to feel you, with me, please.”

How could Hank refuse Connor’s request?

He kisses forehead and takes his hand from Connor’s cock, earning him another whine. He hushes him quickly by reaching down to push at his own clothes, sweatpants and underwear slipping down his own thighs to join Connor’s where their clothes gather at their knees. His cock juts free, heavy and hot, the tip red and leaking precome that travels over his head and down along his shaft.

He hears Connor gasp softly and tries to hide his smile at the honest reaction. He shifts his weight so that they’re pressed along the length of each other and takes them both in hand, keeping his grip loose at first to test the weight of them in his hand. He begins to stroke after a moment, his movements slow and lazy, and he hears Connor gasp again against his ear.

“H-Hank.”

He picks up the pace, stroking faster along their cocks as their mingled come slicks the way. He can feel Connor’s hips twitching, small needy thrusts that rubs his cock against Hank’s, precome leaking over them both. Hank can’t help but watch, can’t take his eyes away from where their cocks are thrusting together through his fist, the tips appearing and disappearing with each thrust.

“I-I-”

Connor’s voice is more static than anything else, like a radio losing signal. Hank tears his eyes away from watching them to instead watch Connor, drinking in the sight of the bright blush that’s taken residency across his cheeks and tips of his ear, pink, red, and blue mixing together, artificial blood blending with thirium. He watches as Connor’s brow furrows, his mouth hanging open on breathy moans and cut off recitements of Hank’s name. His entire body is twitching in Hank’s hold and Hank knows he’s close, knows he needs one more push before he’ll fall over the edge into bliss.

“Connor.”

Connor opens his eyes and fuck, Hank’s surprised he doesn’t just come there and then. He can barely see Connor’s irises anymore, swallowed whole by his blown pupils, and the look he’s sending Hank’s way makes heat coil low in his belly, burning him from within.

He leans forward and presses his lips to Connor’s, a gentle pressure to test the waters. Connor melts against him instantly, a shuddering sigh brushing against Hank’s lips that has him smiling into the kiss. He parts his own lips to run his tongue along the seam of Connor’s, a question quickly answered when Connor opens his mouth, pliant and willing, for Hank’s tongue to dip into and explore.

Connor’s mouth is hot and wet, so lifelike that Hank would say he couldn’t tell the difference were it not for the lack of taste. It’s almost sterile with the lack of taste hitting his tongue, but is good all the same, better even when Hank licks along Connor’s curious tongue and gains a muffled moan in response.

Connor’s hips buck erratically as Hank continues to explore his mouth, tongue licking at the backs of his teeth, along his tongue, the roof of his mouth. He presses as close as he can, slicks his tongue along Connor’s own just to feel him lose control and fuck into Hank’s fist, uncontrolled thrusts that are desperate and begging for release.

Hank leans back, squeezes their cocks together when their mouths disconnect. Connor opens his eyes, a protest on the tip of his tongue, but Hank simply smiles at him, and ducks his head to speak against his ear.

“Put your hand on mine,” he murmurs, waits to feel Connor do as he’s told before continuing, “keep it there. I want you to feel it, feel it when you come thrusting against my cock, into my hand. You know what I’m going to do when you come, Connor?”

He feels Connor shudder against him as he says the words, feels him shake his head slightly in response.

Hank licks the shell of Connor’s ear, bites at the lobe just to hear Connor stutter out another static filled moan.

“I’m going to make you taste it.”

Connor comes with a broken shout of Hank’s name as Hank bites down into his neck. It’s too much stimulate and Hank feels Connor shudder under him, feels the final thrust of his hips before he comes, shooting stripes of pearlescent white onto his stomach. Hank keeps stroking, thrusts his cock against Connor’s and uses the come spilling over his fingers to slick the way.

It isn’t until Connor’s nearly done, the last spurts of come dribbling from the tip lazily, that Hank finally comes too. He keeps stroking until Connor’s nothing more than a shuddering wreck beneath him, and when Connor shivers and whispers Hank’s name, voice broken and raw with faded static, Hank finally loses it and comes with a grunt pressed against the heated skin of Connor’s throat.

It’s a while before they do anything more. The air is still, the heat from their activates dispersing to reveal the cool air of the room that settles across their overheated skin. Hank knows Connor doesn’t sweat but Hank certainly does, and he can feel the sweat that had beaded across his skin begin to cool, making him feel itchy and in need of a shower.

Despite this though, he doesn’t actually want to move. Connor is a limp weight beneath him, pliant and dazed. His eyes are shut and his mouth is open, soft breathes coming and going in quick succession as he tries to regain control of his breathing. Hank’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually _need_ to breath, though the sight itself is still rather captivating, especially since the bright reddish blue blush is still high on Connor’s cheeks, painting him purple in the low light of the room.

Hank watches Connor for a moment, drinks in the sight of him without restraint. After another moment he shifts his position, freeing his hand from their spent cocks and raises it, looking at the damage done.

He doesn’t grimace, though he’s close to doing so; his hand is coated in both of their come, strands of it connecting his fingers as he spreads them out. Though it feels kind of gross to have his hand covered in come, he can’t help but feel his cock twitch with interest knowing that it’s his and _Connor’s_ come mingled together on his hand, evidence of what they’ve done.

He feels eyes on him then and turns back to look at Connor. He has his eyes open now, though they’re hooded, obviously too spent and lazy to open them fully. He’s looking at Hank with an unreadable expression though Hank can tell there’s expectance there, anticipation as he waits for something to happen. Hank gets the memo pretty quickly and brings his hand to Connor’s lips, his index and middle finger pressing down against Connor’s bottom lip.

If they hadn’t already just fucked themselves into exhaustion a moment ago Hank is sure his cock would be standing to full attention again in a heartbeat at the image he’s presented with next. Connor parts his lips slowly and snakes his tongue out, kitten licking the tips of Hank’s fingers. His eyelashes flutter as he gets his first taste of their mingled come, and Hank takes the opportunity to push his fingers past Connor’s lips and into his mouth, pressing the digits down against his tongue.

“Do we taste good baby?” Hank asks, voice low and husky, a rumble from deep within his chest. Connor moans around his mouthful and closes his eyes again, savouring the taste. Hank feels Connor’s tongue lick along his fingers, caressing them as his tongue curls around them and licks them clean of their come. He sucks on the digits for good measure before parting his lips again and letting Hank pull his fingers back, now covered in Connor’s spit instead.

“Good?” Hank asks, watching Connor nod before opening his eyes with a smile. He looks positively content, completely blissed out. Hank can’t help but smile at him, amazed at this wonderful android lying pliant beneath him, looking at him as though Hank’s given him the world.

He presses his thumb against Connor’s lips, lets him suck the digit into his mouth to suck and lick clean. Connor holds his gaze as he does this and Hank doesn’t break the eye contact either, happy to watch his android taste them with his extensive (and expensive) detective analysis kit.

When Connor’s finally done licking Hank’s fingers clean of their mix, they settle themselves together along the couch, Hank still lying atop Connor between his thighs as Connor curls himself closer to Hank. The game that was once playing on the telly has long since switched over to some other sports related program, though Hank pays it no mind, uninterested in anything other than the feeling of Connor in his arms and curled into his chest.

“Out of the two of us,” Connor says after a while, when Hank almost feels as though he could doze off lying there on the couch, “I’ve been unable to conclude who is more orally fixated.”

Hank blinks, his brow furrowing as his brain registers what Connor has just said.

“I believe this means,” Connor seems to conclude, and when Hank looks down at him Connor is smiling up at him with a playful glint in his eyes, “that we will have to do this again so that I may _come_ to a more definitive conclusion.”

The bark of laughter that leaves Hank takes him by surprise. He can’t help a grin taking over his face and he buries his head in Connor’s hair as he tries to control his laughter.

“Whatever you say Connor,” he manages at last, pulling back from Connor’s hair and smiling as they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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